


were you looking for someone (as i watched you run)

by areyouevenrealbro



Series: precious when you smile [4]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Lacrosse, Alternate Universe - Not Hockey Player(s), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends With Benefits, Kissing, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Pining, References to BDSM, Sexual Harrassment, Slow Burn, helpful meddling by Mitch Marner, yeah they get kinky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-27 23:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16229726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyouevenrealbro/pseuds/areyouevenrealbro
Summary: to make a long story fucking short, connor brown has been sleeping with frederik andersen for about as long as he’s known him.(or, connor just wants to understand what's happening here.)





	were you looking for someone (as i watched you run)

**Author's Note:**

> hi this is my first time writing something even close to resembling smut pls don't drag me. also this is the longest thing i've ever written so yay me!!! please remember to leave a kudos and comment if you enjoy hehe
> 
>  
> 
> title is from amerika by young the giant.

To make a long story fucking short, Connor Brown has been sleeping with Frederik Andersen for about as long as he’s known him.

To make that short story fucking long, the first time Connor Brown sees Frederik Andersen as he’s moving into his sophomore dorm. It’s really not the sexiest introduction, because he’s sweating and stressed out and on the verge of a panic attack and he really can’t deal with Mo trying to talk about the new transfer student from California, so all he can do is shoot the new kid a quick smile and a hello; he’s a lot more focused on not dropping the overstuffed box in his arms.

The first time Connor _sees_ Freddie, he’s at a frat party later that same day. He knows a couple of guys on the hockey team that are in the frat throwing the annual Back to School Banger. Most of the guys had decided to head over to frat row to check it out; class didn’t start for another two weeks, anyway.

Pretty much the minute he steps through the door, he’s whisked away by his hockey friends, which is chill or whatever, but, like, being whisked away by the hockey guys means getting white girl wasted on shots and shitty beer that will usually have him throwing up in the bathroom for most of the night. He doesn’t feel too bad when he escapes their clutches the first chance that he has. 

He’s pretty trashed, he won’t lie. He spent enough time with the hockey bros that he’s absolutely beyond the buzz that he’d planned on stopping after; his hat is on backwards for some reason and he lost his shirt somewhere around an hour ago.

Connor’s swaying against the half empty keg he’s filling his drink from and surveying the room when he spots Freddie.

He’s posted up with his back against the wall, tucked into the corner of the crowded room. A girl he recognizes from his language and composition class last year has a hand rested on one of his thick biceps; her frustration at his lack of attention is tangible. Connor almost feels bad for being the cause of it.

Almost, because right now Freddie has him pinned with one of the most intense gazes he has ever seen in his entire life. 

His mouth goes a little dry at the way Freddie licks his lower lip slowly and jerks his chin almost imperceptibly toward the back door. Connor swallows, tracking the way he drags his gaze from his eyes down the rest of his half-naked body. He’s knocked out of the trance his eyes put him in when someone slams into his back, making him realize that he’s been zoned out standing perfectly still in the middle of where about a million people are trying to walk.

He stumbles towards the back door clumsily, but finesse is, admittedly, not at the forefront of his mind right now. He _thunks_ down onto the wooden steps of the empty back porch loudly and shivers in the cool night air. His spine straightens instinctively when the screen door opens and closes with a crash. He smells the weed before he sees it (or Freddie) and he stays silent when the body slides onto the step next to him.

They’re quiet, but Connor is just drunk enough that it doesn’t feel awkward. He glances over when a joint appears in his peripheral, and goes to pluck it from his fingers, but figures, well, _in for a penny, in for a pound_ and grips his wrist instead.

_(Power move,_ he thinks to himself. _Got to keep the upper hand.)_

He pulls his wrist to his mouth to kiss his pulse point gently, and then takes a pull from the blunt. He blows the dregs of smoke toward the moon and, finally, meets Freddie’s gaze.

His eyes are darker than they had been in the middle of the packed room, and the muscles in his face are pinched. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Connor snorts a laugh. “Jesus, I thought you’d never ask.”

 

***

 

So, yeah. They’re fucking.

And Connor was cool with it, for a while. They had a good routine set up, and they knew each other’s bodies just as well as they know their own. He even considered them friends; saving each other seats in lecture halls and grabbing each other coffee on the way to their study dates. They would hang out for movie nights that ended in makeout sessions more often than not, but Connor can’t really complain about that. Things were good. Things _are_ good.

The only problem is that Connor finds himself settling into their routines. He finds himself thinking about Freddie more and more.

He likes him. Like, as more than a hookup.

He likes his dead eyes in practice when someone tries to score on him. He likes his angry eyes in practice when Connor is being a brat and riling him up. He likes his laughing eyes when Willy does something so inexplicably stupid that everyone just has to giggle. He likes his tired eyes during their early morning lecture after pulling an all-nighter. Connor likes his bedroom eyes when he watches him dance while they’re out with the team, and he likes the way they both know that Connor is moving just for him; he likes the way he looks later that night when he has his hand wrapped around Connor’s throat.

The point is, Connor likes him more than he should. He doesn’t know how to stop it, either. 

When he complains to Zach about it, he raises an eyebrow and asks, “Well, have you tried _not_ sleeping with him?” Which is absolutely absurd, and Connor tells him so.

It’s not like it’s completely Connor’s fault, either. Anyone would fall for the way Freddie treats him; Freddie buys him dinner and makes sure he’s okay during water breaks if he looks a little sluggish on the field and puts him back together after he’s finished taking him apart.

Connor has to put extra effort into acting normal around him, which is _so_ not fair when Freddie’s attitude towards their entire situation hasn’t changed in the slightest. He still saves Connor seats during class, he still buys him coffee, and he still yells and gets in his face during practice.

(Connor laughs whenever the guys break them up; when they wonder why Connor is laughing instead of pissed. He doesn’t mind. He knows he’ll make it up to him later.)

All in all, Connor feels like maybe he isn’t doing so great at the whole _having the upper hand_ thing.

 

***

 

He definitely doesn’t have the upper hand when, out of the blue after pizza and blowjobs, Freddie stands up and declares that he can’t do this anymore.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he says.

“Uh,” Connor says. “Okay. Any particular reason or-?”

“Nope,” Freddie says. “Just don’t want to.”

And Connor doesn’t think he’s ever felt heartbreak in his life, but he figures that this must be it. He bites his tongue while Freddie pulls his jeans back on, and he bites his tongue when he grabs his wallet and keys and phone, and he bites his tongue _extra_ hard when Freddie stops in front of where he’s curled on the couch hugging a pillow to his chest to brush the back of his hand over the curve of Connor’s cheekbone before he leaves, shutting the door of his room with a resounding _click_.

Connor’s always been prone to crying after sex. It’s really not that weird when his eyes start to well up, he supposes.

 

***

 

He thinks that the worst part is probably the fact that when Freddie said he didn’t want to do _this_ anymore, he meant that he didn’t want to do _anything_ anymore.

They just...don’t talk.

They don’t joke around. They don’t sit next to each other in class. They don’t hang out. They don’t pretend to fight during practice anymore. If the team notices something is off, they don’t say anything about it.

They avoid each other’s eyes. It’s awkward, sure, but Connor is fine. He goes to class and he goes out with the guys and he gets all his homework done on time. Life goes on.

 

***

 

Okay, he lied. He’s not fine.

He misses Freddie with every breath he takes. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this empty. He does everything he can to feel whole again (hanging out with the guys, hooking up, fucking _yoga_ for Christ’s sake) and nothing fills the hollowness in his body the way he needs. The bags under his eyes are a dark purple and his skin is always dry and he can’t remember the last time he wore something other than sweatpants.

He wishes he could say Freddie looks just as bad, but in all honesty, he hasn’t seen much of him. He sees him at morning practice once a day. He barely shows up to class, but when he does, he looks fine. Other than that, he’s like a ghost. Connor can’t seem to find him, and it’s not like the University is that big, so he figures he’s probably avoiding him.

He just-he _misses_ him, you know? And not even just for the sex, either. It’s definitely a plus that he’s down to tie him up and cuddle him afterwards, but Connor is way more focused on the way Freddie completes him and makes him a better person, right now. He’s missing sitting on his counter eating sugary cereal with him, laughing so hard he snorts chewed up bits out his nose when Freddie spills half a quart of milk across the kitchen table.

He’s missing their first morning after together, too, when Connor had woken up with Freddie’s head between his thighs and his knees pushed up into his chest. When they had finished, Freddie’s voice had brought him back to his body, cutting through the cocktail of endorphins swimming in his brain. He’d pressed a kiss to his brow bone, going to slide out of bed but stopping at the sound of Connor’s whine and the way he’d tightened his grip on Freddie’s wrist.

“Don’t go,” he’d slurred tearfully. “Don’t leave me.”

Freddie had brushed another kiss to his knuckles and swept some of the hair off his forehead. “I’m just going to get a cloth and some food for you. Doesn’t that sound nice? We’ll get you all clean and then you can have a snack.”

“But it’s _cold_ ,” he’d whined.

“The sooner I leave, the sooner I come back,” Freddie had reasoned. Connor mulled it over but ultimately let Freddie escape from the tangled bedsheets. He couldn’t escape the chill his absence had left him with, and he was grateful when he’d returned with a washcloth thrown over his shoulder and a plate of fruit.

The combination of first the soft, careful strokes of the cloth and then the feeling of being hand fed chunks of pineapple and grapes lulled him into a happy haze that he had carried with him long after Freddie had sent him back to his dorm, bundled in one of his thick, oversized sweatshirts.

He misses Freddie for the way he makes him feel, but he’ll admit that he misses him for the sex, too. Sue him; he’s only human.

 

***

 

By the time he realizes that the team knows something is up, it’s too late. Connor is pulling on his jeans after his post-game shower when Mo approaches him.

“We’re going out tonight,” he declares. “Everyone is coming and that includes you.”

“Just because you say something doesn’t mean it’s just going to happen,” Connor grumbles back, tugging his shirt over his head rougher than strictly necessary. 

“I didn’t say it, I declared it,” Mo says. “You never come out with us anymore. It feels like you barely even want to be here.”

Connor says nothing. Instead, he sits in his stall and starts to pull his battered Vans on.

Mo sighs and carefully takes a seat next to him. “Look,” he drops his voice. “Whatever happened between you guys doesn’t matter. Just-you can’t let it affect your relationship with the team, okay? Don’t let whatever happened ruin everything you’ve built for yourself here. If you want, you can avoid him completely when we get there.”

Connor nods slowly. What Morgan is saying makes sense; he’s just as much a part of this team as Freddie. He’s proved himself time and time again, on the field and off. To let their break-up impact his place here would be wasting all of his hard work. “Okay,” he sighs.

Mo beams, clapping his hand on Connor’s shoulder as he rises. “You’re catching an Uber with Zach and Mitchy; don’t make them wait.”

Zach and Mitch are probably quietest of the team. Connor appreciates that Mo stuck him with them, whether it was intentional or not. No one makes any attempts at awkward small talk in the cramped backseat on the way over.

Naz snags Connor by the elbow as he’s shouldering his way through the crowded bar towards where the team had claimed a cluster of tables. He presses a shot into his hand. “You’ve been looking like you’ve needed one of these,” he hollers over the pounding bass of the music. “Lately.” He taps his own shot to Connor’s and throws it back.

Connor eyes it guiltily. He hadn’t realize he had been so obvious with his misery, but if _Naz_ had picked up on it, then everyone certainly knew. 

He was upset, suddenly, that he’d let his happiness be taken from him for so long. He’d allowed someone else to control his happiness-the one thing he swore he would never let anyone do.

“Cheers,” he mutters belatedly, and throws his shot back. Tonight, he’s back in control.

 

***

 

Apparently, being back in control means getting wildly drunk

After he ditches Naz at the bar, he heads straight for Willy, who’s gripping Zach’s arm and trying desperately to tug him towards the dance floor and practically drags him to the bar for shots and then to the dance floor.

A half hour later finds him sloppy drunk, writhing through the cluster of anonymous bodies to reach the bar. Willy had graciously allowed Connor to drag him around and shove drinks into his hands before patting his cheek with a knowing smile and making his escape, slithering back to the booth and under Hymie’s arm.

Whatever. He wasn’t going to stop just because he lost his drinking buddy. He props his elbows on the bar, flagging down the bartender for a refill. Bodies jostle him, but a presence closer than normal bar etiquette has him glancing up.

A tall, sandy haired man smiles down at him. “Hey, gorgeous,” he beams. “I’m Ryan.”

Connor shoots him a tight-lipped smile. “Connor.”

“Can I get you something to drink, Connor?”

Connor sighs inwardly. He really isn’t in the mood to entertain this guy, but he also really doesn’t want to be rude and cause a scene. He waves his freshly filled glass gently. “I’m alright, thank you.”

Ryan doesn’t seem to be able to take a hint, however, as he presses closer so that he’s touching Connor’s side from his chest to his thigh. “Come on,” he coos. “Just one drink.”

The smile Connor is struggling to keep pasted on feels more like a grimace at this point. “Come on, dude, I’m really not interested,” he tries to reason. His head feels like it’s underwater from the alcohol.

“I bet I could get you interested.” His creepy smile doesn’t ever seem to fall, even when he starts grinding his hips slowly where he’s touching Connor.

“Leave me alone,” he mumbles. He does his best to squirm back and away, but it feels like a brick wall has suddenly erected itself behind him. He might be more concerned about the arm that wraps around his chest if the scent that followed wasn’t so warm and familiar. He melts into the solid torso; he’d recognize this feeling anywhere.

“He said he’s not interested,” Freddie’s voice is steely. Connor doesn’t even have to be looking at him to know that he’s giving Ryan his dead eyes; the same ones he gives opponents coming at him on a breakaway.

“Uh, yeah, for sure, dude,” Ryan stammers. “I’m just gonna-go.”

If he wasn’t so busy nuzzling his face into Fred’s bicep, he’s sure he would laugh at the way he scurried away. 

Freddie spins him; tugs gently at his hips until there’s no room left between them. “Did he hurt you?”

Connor pitches forward until his face fit into the crook of his neck. “No,” he slurs, rubbing his cheek against his and clutching desperately at his black shirt. The noise he makes when Freddie returns his embrace is truly embarrassing, but he’s drunk and tired and clingy and he feels like maybe he can let it slide, just this once.

“Oh, baby,” he tries to soothe Connor. “You want to go home?”

He nods happily, not bothering to pull his face from Freddie’s neck.

“Okay,” Freddie says. “Let’s go home.”

 

***

 

When Connor wakes up, he knows he isn’t in his own bed before he even opens his eyes. The mattress is too soft, the sheets are too heavy, and the room is too bright; he’s woken up here a million times before, but it’s been a while.

He rolls onto his back, spreading out like a starfish in the center of the bed. Freddie’s suite is quiet, and his room is empty. Birds chirp obnoxiously outside the dorm window as he fights his way out of bed and down the hall to the bathroom to brush the taste of death out of his mouth.

He’s nothing short of shocked when he sees his spare toothbrush still sitting in the same place he had left it the last time he’d slept over. It does something strange to his heart, gives him a feeling akin to hope, to know that Freddie hadn’t tossed it after he cut him off. It might be dumb, the fact that a _toothbrush_ is making his eyes water a little bit, but whatever. He’s in love; he’s allowed to be emotional.

As he makes it to the living area, he takes notice of his oversized goalie folded into an awkward knot on the couch. His head is tipped back over the edge, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. It almost makes Connor cringe, knowing how stiff and sore he’ll be when he wakes.

His intentions are absolutely to make them a full breakfast, complete with scrambled eggs, bacon, and cinnamon rolls; but when he opens the fridge, all he can find are three kiwis, a bottle of ketchup and what seems to be the leftovers of what was once a tuna salad sandwich. Connor shuts the door.

Okay. Maybe not a _full_ breakfast.

Basically, that’s how Connor ends up eating dry cereal out of a mug in the middle of Freddie’s apartment. It’s how Freddie finds him once he wakes, leaning against the cheap countertop and scraping at the bottom of the mug. Fred’s rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the back of his knuckles, and Connor feels like he can’t breathe at the sight, which is cool. It’s fine.

“Good morning,” Freddie grumbles, grabbing a bottle of water.

Connor swallows. “Good morning.”

They’re silent for a long moment. The air is bordering on awkward when Connor finally breaks. “Thank you,” he rushes out. “For last night. Getting that guy away and-and everything. I know that’s not what you signed up for so...sorry.”

Freddie shrugs, taking a sip of his water. “Don’t apologize. ‘S not your fault he couldn’t take a hint.” The plastic of his bottle makes a crunching noise as he visibly tightens his hand around it. The grip looks painful. “Besides,” he continues. “I wouldn’t have stepped in if I hadn’t wanted to.”

The moment feels heavy; Fred’s words are loaded with underlying feeling. Connor has to bite his lip to keep the noise from bubbling up in his chest. He can’t help the surge of feelings that threaten to swallow him whole. He doesn’t think he’ll ever feel this way about anyone else. He doesn’t want to feel this way about anyone else.

He misses Freddie so much. He’s so tired of hurting.

“Look,” he starts. “I know things have been...weird. You know I’ve been miserable. I know you’ve been miserable. Can we just-go back to being friends? Please?”

As he spoke, he’d began to do the one thing he hadn’t let himself do since they’d stopped talking; hope. He’d started to hope that they’d be okay. He hoped that Freddie would say yes, and he hoped that things would go back to the way they were. The look on Freddie’s face tells him it was a mistake. “Connor,” he says softly. “I...can’t.”

Connor knows his face is probably the same color as his hair by now. His belly feels hot with embarrassment. His hands are shaking so bad that he has to set the empty mug down. He’d thought the past few weeks had been bad; he wishes that he could go back in time and tell his past self that it was nothing compared to this. “Okay,” he forces his upbeat tone. “That’s fine, like, no biggie, dude. I’m just gonna-gonna go.” He’s halfway to the door before he even realizes Freddie’s following.

He reaches out with a “Connor, please, bab-” that Connor just manages to dodge, leaving Freddie swiping at empty air.

“Thanks for helping me out, dude, really appreciate it, see you tomorrow!” He throws over his shoulder before his throat closes up completely from the tears. He manages to hold on until the door is shut behind him and he’s alone in Fred’s hallway before he lets them fall.

***

Later that night, he slips into Auston’s dark room. It’s one of the rare nights that he’s not spending with Mitch; he crawls under his covers. He can tell from his breathing that Auston is awake. Auston doesn’t ask any questions because he’s baller like that. Instead, he waits for Connor to gather his thoughts and speak.

“I’m thinking about leaving,” he finally whispers into the dark. “It-hurts. Every time I see him.” Auston hums, but ultimately says nothing. Connor rolls over to face him. “Is that stupid?”

“Yes,” Auston says.

“Okay,” Connor says.

They fall asleep like that.

***

In the coming weeks, everything continues to suck. Connor would go so far as to compare it to a dumpster fire. Nothing changes in their interactions except for the way that Freddie is now avoiding him religiously. He’ll purposely get there early or late so that he won’t have to be in the locker room at the same time as him. 

Connor learned about the word _juxtaposition_ his freshman year, and he thinks that Freddie’s avoidant behavior in real life versus over text is a brilliant example of the word. He would estimate that he’s gotten, at the very least, five hundred texts and calls from the older man begging to let him explain himself. He’s almost glad it’s the middle of exam week. It makes it a lot more socially acceptable for people to see him crying into his finance notes in the middle of the library.   
He doesn’t remember the last time he ate or drank something that wasn’t a sugar-free Redbull, which is how he finds himself in the mess hall at eleven thirty on a Friday night, half asleep, shovelling spicy ramen into his mouth. He startles when a body drops into the seat across from him.

It’s Mitch.

It’s not… _weird_ , per say, that Mitch would sit with him. They’re friends. They’re just not close in a way that friends who sit together at eleven thirty on a Friday usually are.

They’ve always gotten along, though. Connor appreciates that he can respect a comfortable silence, and that he’ll never force anyone to talk. It’s easy to offer him a smile and go back to his soup.

Mitch smiles back and sets his oatmeal cookie, carrot sticks, and soda in front of him. Connor is almost surprised at how not surprised he is by Mitch’s choice in food. He slurps on his noodles and watches Mitch nibble at his cookie and carrots and waits for the other shoe to drop. And just when he think it won’t-

“You should talk to him.”

-it does.

He sets his chopsticks down carefully. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mitch smiles his all-knowing smile. “You do,” he prods gently. “And you know I’m right.”

He does. He hates it. “I don’t know if I can handle if-if he says no.” He sucks in his bottom lip to keep it from quaking.

He’s surprised when Mitch reaches across the table to squeeze his hand. “If you don’t try,” he says, eyes brighter than Connor could have imagined. “You’ll never know.”

It’s not hard to smile when he squeezes back.

***

Theoretically, Mitch probably didn’t mean that he should talk to him _right now,_ but here he is. Outside of his room in the middle of the night.

He wishes that he could say that he had marched right up and slammed on the door, demanding to be let in, but he’d be a liar. Really, he’d walked up and walked away twice before knocking, which he’d regretted pretty much as soon as he’d done it, but by the time he convinced his feet to move, the locks were clicking and the door was creaking open.

Freddie blinks sleep out of his eyes. He isn’t wearing a shirt, but he is wearing the grey sweatpants that Connor used to love to see him in. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Connor says. “Can I come in?”

Freddie, bless him, fumbles the door open a little wider and sweeps an arm back, gesturing him in. Connor ducks past him, wrapping his arms around himself. Maybe if he squeezes his arms a little tighter around his torso, he won’t feel like he’s going to shake apart quite so bad. He stops in the sitting area, and the sound of the door slamming shut makes him wince.

For a few moments, it’s just him and Freddie, whose back is pressed to the door now that it’s shut, staring at each other. All the things that Connor had planned to say are forgotten. He’s acutely aware of the fact that he has no idea what he looks like, having not looked in a mirror since the previous morning.

It’s Fred that finally breaks the silence. “You haven’t been answering my calls.”

It makes Connor scoff. “Were you expecting me to answer your calls? After our last conversation?”

Now, it’s Freddie’s turn to wince. “Fair,” he mutters.

Except, here’s the thing. It’s _not_ fair. It’s not fair that Connor has been tearing himself apart over all of this for months, yet he doesn’t even know what he did. It’s not fair that he’s had to wake up every morning reaching for Freddie, but he’s not there. It’s not fair that he had expected Connor to let him explain himself when Freddie didn’t even have the decency to tell him what Connor did that was so bad.

“Do you do this to everybody?” Freddie opens his mouth to reply, but the dam is finally broken and Connor isn’t about to stop now. “Do you come into every person you sleep withs life and make them feel special and loved, just to kick them to the curb when you don’t want them anymore? You turn their lives upside down, you get them attached, and then you just-what, throw them away? Or is it just me? I might be replaceable to you, but I don’t think I’ll ever be the same after this. After you.” 

“Connor,” his voice cracks. He pushes off the wall and takes a step towards Connor that has him shying away. The thought of Freddie being any closer than he already is has him feeling split open and raw.

“You don’t get to-to touch me and pretend that it’s going to be okay. I’m in love with you and you knew, you had to know, and _still, _you kept sleeping with me and saving me coffee and doing our weird fighting foreplay at practice. But the _worst_ part? The worst part is that I have no one to blame but myself. I let you do this to me, and now I’m the only one left to pick up the pieces. I have to pretend that it’s all fine, that I don’t miss you right down to my core, and that I don’t care that I’ll have to deal with this alone.”__

__Connor’s panting. He didn’t think, coming here, that he’d have so much to say. He’d expected a quick conversation, not to word vomit all over Freddie like he’s a teenager again. He hadn’t expected to cry._ _

__The fact that Freddie is only standing there watching him as the embarrassment and regret sets in has him crying even harder. He figures he’s done enough, and now he would really like to go back to his room and let Auston run his fingers through his hair and say nice things to him. He shoulders past Freddie, arms still pressing him together._ _

__As he slides by, however, a pair of arms slide around his waist and pull him back against a bare chest. When he struggles against him, Freddie spins him so that they’re face to face. “Connor, please-” he’s saying. “Hush, it’s okay now, baby, I promise-”_ _

__It’s the ‘baby’ that really gets him. He collapses into Fred’s chest, sobs still wracking his body. They’re almost painful now, but he still clings to Freddie and soaks up the contact and lets it all out. He figures that if this is going to be the last time, he may as well get as much out of it as possible._ _

__At first he thinks that Freddie’s shaking chest under his cheek is a figment of his imagination, confused by the shaking of his own body, but it’s out of rhythm. When he looks up, tears are sliding down Freddie’s nose. Connor brushes them away with the backs of his hands. “Fred,” he whispers. “What’s-?”_ _

__He barks out a wet laugh. “What’s wrong?” he says, incredulous. “Connor, you were never replaceable. Not to me.”_ _

__Connor can feel fresh tears welling. He stays silent._ _

__“To think that I ever made you feel like you weren’t important to me-,” he breaks off, shaking his head. “I hurt you so bad trying to keep myself from getting hurt, and in the end it didn’t even work. You were all I could think about, every moment.”_ _

__Connor can’t breathe. “Don’t lie to me,” he wheezes. “If you’re trying to tell me something, you better fucking tell me.”_ _

__Freddie cradles his face in one palm. “Connor,” he smiles sadly. “You know I don’t say things I don’t mean.”_ _

__And he’s right. Connor does know that. If he thought he couldn’t breathe before, he _really_ can’t breathe now. Their faces are so close. It’s easy to bridge the gap and brush their noses together._ _

__He breathes out. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”_ _

__Freddie groans and presses in. The way their mouths slide together is almost frantic, like if they slow down even for a second, they’ll lose each other forever. Connor pushes Freddie, hard, until his back hits the wall and slides to his knees in front of him. He smiles when he hears the _thunk_ of Freddie’s skull hitting the wall. Frantic fingers work to undo his belt buckle, work to get Fred’s dick out of his pants._ _

__He gets distracted by the thumb Freddie sneaks into his mouth, slowing him down until he’s just sucking at his fingers, desperately trying to get more into his mouth. He can feel his headspace getting blurry at the edges in a way he hasn’t felt since the last time they’d slept together. He settles happily into it, swirling his tongue around the digits pressing further in and humming happily._ _

__“Good boy,” Freddie coos above him. Tilting his head back to look at him makes Connor dizzy, so instead he just looks up through his lashes at Freddie’s smug smirk. He pulls off the fingers with a pop, pouting his swollen lips. “Fred,” he whines. “Want your dick, c’mon.”_ _

__“‘Course you do, baby.” He unbuckles his pants and hisses when Connor knocks his hand out of the way, sucking gently at the head before pressing on so that his nose brushes the hair at his base. “Fuck,” Freddie gasps. “You’re so good, Connor.”_ _

__Connor loses track of time on his knees, teasing for a while before really going to work on his dick. He pushes himself until he feels Freddie’s cock reaching farther down his throat than he’s ever been. He holds him there for as long as he can stand, relishing in the way Fred’s thighs shake and one hand tightens in his hair while the other slides down to touch his throat. The way Freddie groans like it’s been ripped out of him tells Connor that he could feel the bulge of his own dick there._ _

__“Up, up,” he bullies Connor up and onto his feet, tugging him down the hallway towards his bedroom. Connor giggles the whole way, right up until the door shuts behind them._ _

__***_ _

__Connor wakes the next morning with his head on Freddie’s chest. He smiles when he feels Freddie’s fingers brushing over the marks the cuffs from last night had left on his wrists. He can’t help but smile. It feels good to finally be on even ground; to not need the upper hand anymore._ _

**Author's Note:**

> yowza leave a comment and a kudos if you enjoyed pls lol
> 
>  
> 
> find me on tumblr at @ohmymarnthews


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